


Someday We Will Be Safe

by chirichiri



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Gen, au where kelsier died in the pits instead of mare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24161050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chirichiri/pseuds/chirichiri
Summary: Mare always wanted a daughter . . . though her husband is gone and she has to focus on killing the Lord Ruler, she might have another chance at having a family, if she doesn't mess things up.
Relationships: Vin & Mare (Mistborn)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 32





	Someday We Will Be Safe

Mare watched the sun set over the horizon, casting long rays of bloody light across the jagged cityscape of Luthadel. She kept her tin at a low burn, so as to not hurt her eyes at the sunset’s last brilliance, but she was still able to hear the sound of the trapdoor that led to the roof being slowly opened and lowered, then the soft pad of bare feet creeping cautiously towards her. The girl was remarkably quiet. So skilled, at such a young age.

The near-silent footsteps stopped a short distance behind her. Mare tilted her head, watching the sun sink, but didn’t turn. “Do you find sunsets beautiful, Vin?”

A small, sharp intake of breath, almost too quiet for even Mare’s ears. She could imagine the tiny girl, shifting her weight uneasily at having been caught, uncertain as how to respond.

Mare coughed a little to clear her throat, trying to make her voice gentler. She’d never fully recovered from working in the mines as a child, and her low, raspy voice was the result. “It’s all right, child. Come join me?” She wiped the spot next to her clear of ash the best she could and patted it to beckon Vin closer. “Clubs has an excellent view.”

Careful and nervous, like a bird investigating abandoned crumbs, Vin sat down beside Mare but kept her legs drawn up to her chest, unlike Mare’s dangling over the edge. She leaned subtly away from Mare, thin arms held stiff at her sides and body coiled taut with suspicion. Though she looked toward the sunset, Mare could see her peeking at her out of the corners of her eyes, watching her—and the scars on her forearms. Mare resisted the urge to scratch them. Being around Vin made her anxious sometimes, not because she was afraid Vin would attack her—though an experienced thief and full Mistborn, she was still just a girl—but because Mare was afraid even the smallest motion would scare her off.

So Mare held herself still, trying to convey a calm and gentle air with her relaxed posture. “Well?” she tried again, but even that one word caught in her throat and came out too rough, too harsh, almost a bark. She winced, and sure enough, Vin flinched, hunching down over herself. Mare looked quickly towards her, an apology already halfway to her lips, but stopped when she saw Vin’s reaction, how she braced herself against Mare’s sharp movement, as if waiting for—no,  _ expecting _ —a slap or blow to come.

The sun sank fully beneath the horizon behind her, Luthadel falling dark around them, and Mare instinctively burned her tin higher to see Vin better. The girl had her eyes turned down, body still rigid, but her hands clenched the roof’s edge tight. Mare could see her heartbeat fluttering in her throat, very light and fast. The bruise from Camon still darkened her face, her black hair too short to hide it from view.

The same as the first time she’d seen Vin, sharp, hot anger burst inside Mare, making her scars tingle. A beggar’s life was too good for Camon. Far too good for whoever had trained—beaten—this response into Vin. Cower, brace yourself, but let it come. Don’t make a sound. Don’t let them know it hurts. Don’t let them know you’re  _ weak _ .

Mare ground her teeth, looking away. She forced a deep breath in and out, and let the cooling twilight air ease the roughness of her throat. The mists were beginning to form, and she focused on that. Thin tendrils swirled slightly around her, drawn to her light burning of tin. She could feel their cool wetness on her skin, which prickled in response. Slowly, the anger eased slightly, and Mare trusted herself—and her voice—enough to speak.

“Sorry, old mining accident,” she laughed, and caught Vin glancing quickly at her scars again. “But I am still interested in your answer. Do you like sunsets?”

“Are they beautiful?” Vin repeated uncertainly, eyeing Mare distrustfully, as if it were a trick question. “I don’t . . . sure.” Her voice was edged with the careful neutral tone used when giving the response one hoped the listener wanted to hear.

Mare offered her a smile, wishing for nothing more than to reach out and cup the girl’s chin in her hands, stroke her hair, pull her in for an embrace. Hold her tight, let her know nothing bad or painful would ever happen to her again. And yet. Mare hadn’t escaped the Pits to soothe or appease. She had come to shake the world at its roots. She came for vengeance. Not just for her husband, who’d sacrificed himself for her despite suspecting she’d betrayed him, but for every crying child, for ever beaten skaa, for every skull buried beneath the ash of a thousand-year empire, for every whispered plea in the dark, “We will be well. Tomorrow, things will be better. Someday, we can be safe.”

Mare had come to kill a god. And she needed this girl to help her do it.

“I’ll admit, I never did like them,” Mare said, watching a crease of worry appear between Vin’s eyebrows. “But I can show you something better. You have tin on you?”

The little Mistborn nodded, but was distracted by a tendril of mist that curled around her arm. As the mists thickened and the world grew darker, she seemed to grow more on edge.

Mare chuckled. “Don’t go out at night much, do you? The mists aren’t so bad, once you get used to them.”

Vin shot her a look, and there it was. That flash of defiance, of stubborn strength. It reminded Mare too much of someone she knew. “I go out,” Vin said, too quickly, afraid of having a vulnerability exposed. “Just not. Often.” Her head jerked as something made a noise in the street below, squinting fearfully into the mists.

“As a Mistborn you’ll need to go out more than often,” Mare told her. “I may just be a Tineye, but I can tell you that the mists are your friend. They’re here to hide you, protect you, give you power.”

Vin eyed her, obviously not convinced.

“Burn your tin,” Mare urged. “I’ll show you what I mean.”

Mare got to her feet, backing up to the center of the roof, and Vin cautiously followed, a new wariness coming to her step as she started burning tin and could suddenly feel the roof tiles acutely beneath her bare feet. She stopped a stride away from Mare, facing her, but looking around with a curiosity, an awe that came from being able to pierce the mists and see the city with new eyes. Mare had long observed how different Luthadel—indeed, every place and land she’d traveled to—became at night, and seeing Vin experience it for the first time made her smile.

Vin turned, idly stepping a little closer, and her foot fell on a sharp rock. She jumped with a short cry of pain, then jumped again at Mare’s laugh, loud in the quiet night and louder to tin-enhanced ears.

“Lesson number one,” Mare said. “When burning tin, watch your step.”

“Got that one,” Vin said drily.

“Well, it might turn out harder than you think,” Mare said, beginning to trace a circle around Vin, gliding through the steps of an older ballroom dance that was less popular now, but still as wonderful to Mare as it had been the first time she’d learned it, as a young woman just a little older than Vin, a full-fledged thief then after the mine’s cave-in but itching for bigger scams, higher risks, richer marks—the type only done when masquerading as a noblewoman. Though she had no pewter to burn, no supernatural sense of balance gifted to Thugs and Mistborn, she still moved gracefully, feet light on the roof tiles, guided by both the familiarity of long hours of practice and muscle memory, and by the subtle whispered warnings her tin gave her feet just before they brushed against the roof tiles, telling her where pebbles or dips were. She closed her eyes, spinning through the mist, and for a moment, could imagine the arms of her husband around her, swaying to the harmony of their own hearts beating together, a secret melody Kelsier had never known.

The dance finished, landing Mare where she had began in front of Vin, and she opened her eyes with a smile. Her arms stung, and she ignored them, addressing Vin’s slightly stunned look. “It takes practice. Someone burning tin can suddenly hear, see, taste, touch, and smell much better than any skaa or noble—and if you’re not careful, they’ll notice. Your secret will be out, and with a whisper or slip of a coin—” Mare snapped her fingers— “an Inquisitor’s found you. Watch your step, how you’re moving and who’s watching.”

Vin swallowed, then nodded gravely.

“Lesson number two,” Mare said, sliding a hand under the cloak she wore, “FOCUS!” Her sudden yell made Vin cry out, clapping her hands over her ears, and at the same moment Mare threw a smoke-bomb at the girl’s feet, shooting a plume of acrid fog into her eyes. As Vin stumbled, hands flying to her burning eyes, Mare—a cloth mask tied over her nose and mouth against the smoke—slipped behind her and tossed her cloak over Vin’s head. The sudden rough texture of the cloth threw the girl into total disarray, and she fell to her knees, fighting to throw the fabric off.

Mare slid to her knees in front of Vin and helped pull off the cloak. Vin, overstimulated and disoriented, snarled and flailed her arms wildly to fend off any other attacks sent her way, but was met with only a waterskin. She flinched at contact with the object, eyes scrunched up tight.

“It’s water,” Mare told her, pressing the skin into her hands. “Wash your eyes.”

Vin upended nearly the entire thing over her head, then sputtered, shocked at its coldness. With shaking hands she scrubbed at her eyes, then spat, “What was that for!”

“When burning tin, especially flaring, there will be times when you’re overwhelmed by the barrage of stimulation happening to your body. Right now, at night, it’s not so bad—the sun is down, the mists are out, Luthadel’s crowds are huddled in their tenements—but at day you’ll likely find yourself stressed, uncertain what senses to follow when all of them seem to be screaming at you. Tin doesn’t let us Allomancers pick and choose which senses to enhance and at what intensity, so it’s down to us to manage all that information. You have to choose which sense to focus on, then narrow it down further. What are you looking for specifically? Are you trying to track a nobleman through the crowds? Then don’t pay attention to the ash falling or the door slamming or the street urchin running with a loaf of bread. Keep your eyes on him. Focus on that one thing, and block everything else out. If you don’t focus on what’s important there and then, you’ll get lost.”

Vin nodded, slower this time, carefully blinking her eyes open. Dripping wet, waterskin still clutched in her hands, shivering and sitting with hunched shoulders, she looked smaller and more vulnerable than ever. Mare pulled down her mask and offered Vin the cloak.

“The third lesson,” Mare said, husky voice dropping to a murmur, “is the most important.”

Vin eyed it for a moment, but took the cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders. Mare stretched out her hand, offering it to her palm-up, and Vin hesitantly placed her own hand in it. Her hand was cold, her skin calloused, but her touch was light, a thief’s care.

Mare tilted her chin down, catching Vin’s eyes. “Lesson number three. Look up.”

Mare began to look up, and Vin followed, head tipping back to gaze at the sky. Mare kept her head only half-tilted, keeping her eyes on Vin. She watched as the girl’s mouth slipped into a small circle. Her shoulders slumped slightly and her hand fell more completely into Mare’s as she forgot to be afraid, but stared with wide, wondering eyes.

The stars were out.

“Vin,” Mare began, “as a skaa Allomancer, as a  _ Mistborn _ , you will have to be very careful. You will have to watch your step, and you will have to ignore some things in favor for what is most important at the moment. But always remember, no matter how dark the world is, no matter the wrong, and the hurt, and the pain, remember—beauty remains.” She took the girl’s other hand, and with gentle, circular motions, began rubbing her fingers, her knuckles and her palms. Vin startled a little, glancing down from the stars, flinching slightly away from Mare’s touch, but she didn’t pull fully away. She stared at Mare as mist danced around them, moving to music beyond tin’s senses. She stared at Mare, and Mare smiled. She cleared her throat quietly.

“The world will try to break you, Vin. People will try to hurt you. They want to make you like themselves. What tin does, in enhancing your senses, lets you  _ feel _ . Let’s you know what’s going on around you, and how those things affect you.” Mare shook her head. “Do not forget. You are here. I am here.  _ We _ are here.” She held up their joined hands. “I feel you, and you feel me. They will try to make you forget, they will try to convince you that it’s fact, but Vin, remember! You are not alone. Beauty remains, even in this our broken world, and you are a part of that beauty.”

Mare stopped rubbing Vin’s hands. She lowered them down into Vin’s lap, then let go. Vin was still staring at her. Her eyes were red from the smoke, and glittered slightly. Mare wavered, her scars screaming.  _ Focus on what’s important _ . So Mare leaned forward, closing her eyes, and carefully pressed a kiss to the top of Vin’s head. She froze, terrified. Would she run?

A long moment passed, then Vin leaned into Mare, resting her head very lightly against her shoulder.

Mare didn’t dare move. She hardly breathed. She did flare her tin, and it let her feel the weight of Vin leaning against her more fully. The girl didn’t seem so frail now.

After a while, Vin shifted so she could look upward again, her cheek rather than forehead pressed against Mare’s shoulder. Mare heard her breathe in, then sigh it out. “You’re right,” she said at last, so quiet only Mare’s tin-enhanced ears could hear it. “The stars are better.”

**Author's Note:**

> I reread era 1 recently and couldn't stop thinking about an au where Mare survived the Pits instead of Kelsier. Chatted about it on the coscrew discord server, and a few weeks later I remembered/had the motivation to write this fic! Wrote this from like,,,,,11pm to 2:30am and I don't care to proofread/edit much rn so could it be better? sure. for now, im pretty satisfied :)


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